


Il est temps

by Gondolin



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao RPF
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, RPF, but there are so few moconte fics in english so..., this has been on one of my notebooks since 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gondolin/pseuds/Gondolin
Summary: He debates with himself for all of three seconds flat, then calls Flow. He could have texted, heshouldhave texted, but then he would have had to wait for a reply, and he just can’t do that today.
Relationships: Mikelangelo Loconte/Florent Mothe, mention of Mikelangelo/other
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Il est temps

**Author's Note:**

> If you are one of the people mentioned or know any of the people mentioned, TURN BACK NOW.
> 
> If you are one of the, like, five people in this fandom: HELLO, LET'S BE FRIENDS. If you are Hikary: this is your fault.

After the opening night of Timéo, Mikelangelo is buzzing with restless energy. The thing between him and Florent is still so new, and he is trying to avoid being too clingy. But there had been backstage toasts, hugs and a few tears of relief, and though smiling and excited through all of it, Mik had found himself thinking of another backstage, another cast. The whole MOR experience had been a whole different level of pants-shitting terrifying, exhausting… and bone-deep _satisfying_. But then again, Mikelangelo thinks he would not have the energy to go through that again.

He debates with himself for all of three seconds flat, then calls Flow. He could have texted, he _should_ have texted, but then he would have had to wait for a reply, and he just can’t do that today.

Florent picks up on the second ring, sounding so happy he’s almost breathless with it.

“So? How did it go? You smashed it, right?”

Mik laughs into the phone, all giddiness and relief. “I think they liked it.”

“I might have spent the past hour obsessively checking twitter,” Flow confesses, “The public _loves_ it.”

“Yes, please, give me only the good news tonight. Critics tomorrow.”

“Do you want to come over?” Flow asks, a complete non-sequitur.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Mikelangelo actually strips off all makeup. He feels naked, but he also knows he’ll be less recognisable like this, and he doesn’t want to risk any lingering audience members to wonder where he’s going. Timéo is not yet, and might never be, as popular as Mozart, but Mikelangelo has his fair share of obsessive fans.

By the time he’s out, the metro has stopped running, so he resigns himself to the choice between a long-ish bus ride or a taxi. His legs start jittering the instant he even thinks about waiting for the bus, so he is in front of Flow’s door exactly twenty minutes later.

Flow is wearing his usual ludicrous flannel pyjamas. He’s barefoot and is holding a mug of steaming tea in one hand, which he immediately hands over to Mik. He sniffs it carefully, only to discover that it’s chamomile.

“I thought you hated the stuff?” Mik questions, taking a sip and kicking off his (constantly unlaced) boots at the same time. A true circus artist.

“But you don’t,” Flow says sheepishly, and Mikelangelo slowly starts to process the implications of Florent keeping chamomile at home _just for him_. They’d gotten better at communicating with each other, but actual talking sometimes is still hard. Mik thinks about Fabien for a second, how in touch he was with his feelings. It’s just a fleeting thought, but he still feels a bit guilty. Instead of commenting, he draws close and kisses Florent. His lips are almost cold after the sip of piping hot chamomile and he smiles into the kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against his cheek, but Flow just hums dismissively.

So they aren’t talking tonight. It’s good, Mik didn’t exactly come here to talk. Flow’s presence alone grounds him, calms him like nothing else can. But there is still that buzz underneath his skin that won’t go away. He lets himself be dragged to the sofa, but he can’t stay still. He takes a sip of his drink, then kisses Flow again.

“Do you want to come see the show?”

“Of course I do, I was waiting for you to invite me.”

This is another thing they aren’t talking about, how deep into the closet they both are, and how it affects them, how they need to thread carefully even on minor issues.

Mikelangelo, however, is not thinking about this at all. He is thinking of the thrill of being on stage, and of the idea of Florent watching him. He is happy. He likes his role in Timéo, he really thinks it suits him.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a whole verse in which Mikelangelo briefly dated Fabien from La Légende du Roi Arthur, before both him and Flow get their respective heads out of their asses, but there are only snippets of it written, so... (it was born out of a couple of cute instagram pics Mik and Fabien took together ages ago)


End file.
